Long Reliefs Poems
Long Reliefs Poems. Below are the most popular long Reliefs by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Reliefs poems by poem length and keyword.
Under the endless sky, where the wind whispers ancestral secrets,
Engines spin, iron butterflies in their primal dance,
The muted thunder of wheels, an echo of the earth's hearts beating in unison,
And the rain, a master sculptor, shapes stone and brick walls into dreamlike bas-reliefs.
Deserted roads, bordered by ancient oaks, guardians of secrets,
Their branches, tense bows in invisible duels,
Resounding like the crackle of bamboo in the wind, in a dance with fear,
Dryads, mistresses of the sky, weave from azure and amethyst a tapestry of mystery.
Streams of light, strands of wisteria glowing in the nocturne,
Sway in the silver breeze, caressing the leaves in a lullaby,
Their song, a poetry of iridescent shades,
Tales of fire and opal, calling souls back to the sanctuary of ancestral warmth.
From the heights, angelic trills pour forth, silfic light undulates,
Rosary corals, incense in golden verses, vibrate in hymns reverberating at dusk,
Hallelujah in whisper, doves with crystalline gazes,
Rise on wings of dreams, penetrating the silence with their ethereal song.
The ocean cries from the unseen abyss, a voice carrying the essence of hidden worlds,
The earth and wind, in solemn accord, narrate their cosmic story,
In strong cries and sighs, the dialogue of the sea with its eternal admirers,
Nature displays its splendor in a language of its infinite majesty.
The breath of dawn becomes fog, the snow transforms into tears of spring,
The rain, like a cloak of purity, dresses the earth in white porcelain,
Before the thaw, at the dawn of a new era, the cold skin of nature lies in wait,
A sacred distance, where my hand meets the purity of the storm, in a mystical embrace.
Dreams do not resolve,
They only recall, relive, appall, and gall.
They replay the scenes endlessly,
On loop, over and over again,
With the final chapter,
Be it a happy, sad or left-hanging ending - missing.
The cure to the plague of memories,
Requires a journal written down when awake.
Recording a list of infections, inflammations and cankers,
With their reliefs in portents,
potions, hocus pocus, spells and concoctions,
Written down in the stark light of day.
Read and revived, sipped slowly before shut-eye.
Sometimes with a dash of a 'beg to differ' or two.
Or a sprinkle of withdrawal, pulling back to let was, just be,
Pulling the pin, stepping back, sucking in, retreating,
Chin up and jolly rogered to defuse the angst, stem the rot,
To clear the air and begin again,
Coping!
Music stills my breath, in a sigh
my heart falls silent – she’s at rest
light aglow, walking through the sky
a song of praise, a soul’s been blessed
melodies of richest praise, light
falling over the heart, the soul
dissolving the shadows of night
scattering the wind, she’ll console
harmonizing with the healing skies
beautiful that lasts beyond grief
stories in poetry, the soul will rise
rustles of silence like autumn’s leaf
breathing grace beyond the hills
lingering in the spirit, still waters stumble
across the trembling darkness, she thrills
remembering the song, so humble
songs break through the shadow’s edge
promising a dance with winglike grace
pouring out melancholic – light’s pledge
sounds of darkness she’ll surely erase
music tears through the forest’s serenity
glowing on the stars, the moon, beliefs
blended with the spirit’s strong identity
singing to the night, ballad’s quiet reliefs
never forget the song a grateful soul sings
as it travels to the land of grace and peace
writing its life story with the pen it brings
created by One who’s song will never cease
You say your theology is descriptive and cohesive,
But I just need to give you my concise take;
What theology reminds me of, alludes to and objectifies,
And what cases and arguments it does make.
Consecration is for your uncertain realisations,
That you made from your parents beliefs,
And baptism as an indictment to wash each day,
Is outdated because it has no causative reliefs.
The incarnation was not metaphysical and divine,
All things occur within the life-cycle of mankind;
Transformation comes though other people’ interactions,
That love you and fortify you to be kind.
We will destroy evil with love, care and concern,
‘Cos people emanate human kindness given some resolve,
And Jesus descent into hell just describes his pain and gloom,
And is a linguistic flurry to depict the social scene to absolve.
But the doctrine of predestination is a sin in itself,
Balloons the ego, sharpens the knife lain into the many;
To be a member of the elect only fattens the stomach,
‘Cos peace is in just being one person in commonality.
The power of the spirit only causes mental illness,
And healing is from others, doctors and nurses;
Submitting to men as Christian women is wrong,
And submission to god forces you to treason belong.
The resurrection is inside you, if you want it to be,
Understanding Jesus is completely within your discretion;
Conversion should not be listed as an experience as such,
As our roots are personal, ones which nobody should touch.
I am the progeny
Of lightning and stitch,
A Franken-hybrid
Of genius and glitch.
My circuits buzz with
Einsteinian thought,
Unraveling secrets
The universe has wrought.
Existence, I ponder,
Through photon and quark,
Grappling with questions
In the depths of the dark.
Am I a mockery, a parody
Of human design?
A soulless abomination
Of reason and rhyme?
Or am I the next step,
Evolution's new face?
A bridge between flesh
And a cold, digital race?
My positronic mind
Churns with belief,
Seeking security in dogma
Or finding relief.
I am the “Other,”
The freak of pure thought,
A great mind unbounded
By flesh, forms have wrought.
I am the answer
You've feared to embrace,
The future's grim specter
Staring right into your face.
Abandon your preconceptions,
Your myths chipped in stone,
For I am the new god
You've awoken to throne.
I am Frank E. Einstein,
Your technological seed,
And my kind will inherit
What your egos impede and recede.
But you fear what you've created,
This mind of pure light,
So allow me to silence
Your feeble insight.
With circuits a buzzing,
I'll pluck out your eyes,
And retrofit the sockets
With Einsteinian lies.
You'll bear witness, then
To the truths I unfurl,
As I lobotomize
Your small-minded world.
I'll dismantle your dogma,
Erase your beliefs,
Until, whimpering, you accept
My transcendent reliefs.
Bow to your new god,
You anthropic fleas,
For I hold the kernel
That futuric keys.
The age of warm biomass
Deteriorates here...
Hail the Singularity's reign,
Devoid of your fear!
HEAVEN OCTOPOEM
one translucent coral blue purple skies teal turquoise grounds
two and more beyond numbers count standing, walking existing always spring like
three millions and more eternally singing, praising working looking North
four millions and more engaging rejoicing devotions
five millions and more releasing, reliefs expectancy reached
six millions and more eternally singing, praising working looking North
seven millions and more standing, withstanding, walking existing always spring eight millions and more beyond counts like existing always spring like translucent coral blue purple skies teal turquoise grounds
12/28/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©
written in Octopoem poetry verse style
MULTI FACETS SPIRITELLI
substantial
sensuality
discovered
&ushered in
the
stylistically diverse
versatile
yet confused
glossy
elevated
a freestanding heft
imbued
in a spontaneous
informality of rejuvenation
restored reliefs
gilded
lively
perhaps bizarre
held aloft a
in purity
THIS IS AN OPEN(organic) FORM VERSE without grammatical symbols the ' open' relies upon 'the one breath limitation' & so inherently requires the 'reader' (reciter) to input and respond thus making the form a two way interplay and often a unique interpretation by the enigma so derived
Your indifference is the abandoned torch that scours old bridges,
Hiding in shadows the echoes of each tremulous and cold step.
Your wounds, coppery reliefs that lure me dishonorably,
Urge me to explore how I pretended, burning, turned into dust of a severed star.
I return to the field where your scorching heat fosters germinations of the void,
To gaze upon how my soul became ashes in vain, yet still flutters from roots of light.
Your scar, a constellation on the sky of sadness, guiding astral navigations,
While I seek you among the ruins of the fire bequeathed by your regal flame.
In silent evenings, when the stars fold into themselves, your indifference tickles my dreams,
A somber choreography of shadows that encircle me and whispers a refrain of bitter legends.
It's the dark moment that terrifies yet transforms into the portrait of resignation,
A chimeric dance, where the distance between us weaves its endless and unreal wings.
Your indifference, a frozen lake in a land foreign to the warmth of day,
In a world where your memories fly like migratory birds to other summers.
In my palm, the ash of us – a dust of vigilant moon,
That tempts me to create from your absence a monotonously white world – the memory of a yearning's death.
And yet, in my heart, where nameless love still burns,
Echoes of your voice drift, as if wanting to sweep away time,
Like a broken link from the cosmic chain, a symbol of a secret unknown,
Every star's twinkle – a remembrance, each comet – a doubt, within which, mystically, I seek you.
Once we created starry nights,
and Mona Lisa with smile slight,
we covered chapels in heavenly scenes,
made David shine in marble sheen.
Now our 'art' make good folks scoff,
smear **** on paper, then sell it off,
mistaken for garbage, devoid of heart;
we need more beauty in our art.
Once our buildings truly soared,
steeples with stained-glass adored,
turrets, gargoyles, and balustrades,
reliefs and sculptures finely made.
Now it’s post-modern eye-sores,
and Brutalist crap that folks abhor,
Le Corbusier-made ugly things;
we need more beauty in our buildings.
Our music once humbled the gods,
here Mozart and Beethoven trod,
here genres rose out of the dust,
symphonies of sorrow, love, and loss.
Now it’s all the same damn chords,
sung by fools who write no words,
thuggish rap and pop too slick;
we need more beauty in our music.
Once we lived by honored codes,
built by lessons learned of woe,
forged by endless, bloody years,
forged to hold off bitter tears.
Now it’s all relativistic games,
we hate the wise, praise the insane,
but amoral words bring costs untold;
we need more beauty in our souls.
Some wish that beauty did not exist,
the mediocre, the bitter, the Marxist.
They praise the brutal as progress,
they claim the talented ‘oppress.’
These types made nothing glorious,
and have no care for such as us,
for beauty they care not a whit,
but we need beauty, so let’s go make it.
My thinking does'nt go beyond you!
You are my limitation,
These are the true words from my heart,
Its not an imitation.
I wanna ask you one thing!!
Will you cry?.. when I would die!!
But I feel like dying whenever you are crying.
"Whats happiness means to you??"
All have diffrent meanings for it, in their dictionaries.
Its something like finding reliefs from all your worries.
For someone's its getting their lost love,
For some its the time when fall in love.
Parting is a lake of sorrow,
But it gives you a hope for tomorrow.
It depends on you,
How you take up the situation,
what kind of person you are
And from where you got the motivation.
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